


Icarus

by ninassield



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball, Tokyo Ghoul, crossover - Fandom
Genre: AU, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood, Explicit Language, Fluff, Multi, Sexual Content, Supernatural Elements, Violence, dove!aomine, ghoul!kise, slight humour
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 01:42:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3469724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninassield/pseuds/ninassield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kise is nothing but pure liquid gold dripping on his skin and burning everything with magnificent brilliance, a brilliance they both bask in and breathe. However, Aomine will soon have to contemplate the remote but concrete possibility of darkness - that's just a lesson waiting to be learned the hard way.<br/>A tale of passion and violence, seemingly opposite entities, but hendiadys nonetheless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Thought I'd post this before the new chapter of Zeal!  
> Any possible clarification you may need is given at the end.

The worst part definitely, _definitely_ is the smell.  
  
Blood sings for him, calls him and bribes him with its deliciously sweet yet piercing scent, and there's absolutely no way for him to neglect it.  
  
Even so, Kise Ryouta is unquestionably adamant in his resolve.  
He fights it, he wrestles with perverse desire every single second of his life: that's how he chose to live, plain and simple.  
  
His natural yet miraculous tendency to adapt, to read others and comply to their wishes, allows him to lead a normal life - as normal as his existence could ever aspire to be anyway.  
  
He has a nice house, nice clothes, nice friends, nice beliefs.  
He has a place in this fucked up world, he has strenght, he has more than any of his kind could ever hope to achieve.  
  
He's alright, he's undeniably alright, he's _fine_.  
  
  
  
That's what he tells himself as his teeth sink into the woman's neck and tear her to shreds.

* * *

  
Aomine Daiki has a pretty concise (but _very_ exhaustive) list of things he hates, and as he shoves people away in an ungraceful attempt to make his way to the corpse, he mentally chants them for the umpteenth time.  
  
One, ghouls.   
Two, murderers.  
Three, ghouls committing murder.  
  
Now, one could only imagine his distress upon realising the tumescent human remains scattered on the floor are indeed a collateral effect of a ghoul being hungry. All the elements on his black list are currently laying right before his eyes, displayed in a bloody pool of flesh painting the sidewalk like a fucking canvas.   
  
Daiki takes a sharp breath before sparing one last glance to the woman's ravaged body, then swiftly walks away with hasty strides, already cursing at his skinny jeans while trying to fish for his phone stuck a particularly tight pocket.   
It takes him a few tries and _a lot_ of profanities, but he manages to pull out the device and dial the number in a fluid, automatic movement.  
  
  
"Yo Satsuki, it's just like you said. Yeah, he was probably starving. What do you mean how I know it's a male? Have you seen the teeth marks? That ain't a girly mouth, Satsuki." he sighed, scratching the back of his head.   
  
_This is gonna be a pain_ , he determines.   
  
  
He doesn't know it yet, he doesn't even suspect it, but yeah.  
  
A huge pain indeed.

 

* * *

"Are you serious, Kise? You left the body there?!"  
  
Kasamatsu's tone is nothing more than a whisper, but it stings him like a particularly nasty viper nonetheless - he can't exactly hold that against him, though.  
He fucked up, he _monumentally_ fucked up.  
  
Kise furrows his eyebrows and takes a minute to look around.  
Alright, the coffee shop is fairly empty so he _presumes_ it's okay to raise his voice. Yeah, just a bit.  
  
"What was I supposed to do? It's not like I _planned_ to drop her on the sidewalk, okay? There was someone else there! I was too busy trying not to die of starvation to-"  
  
"LIKE I CARE!"  
  
The waitress sends them an annoyed glare, but neither of them seems to mind.  
  
"Look," Kasamatsu begins, voice back to an inhumanly low volume; "The 20th ward was a nice place for people like us before you and your friends came along, Kise. The doves didn't even bother investigating stuff, we kept it _clean_....and now you're going around leaving bodies behind like fucking Christmas decorations!"  
  
His friend's blue eyes stab right through him, cold and stern and _judging_.   
Kise, on the other hand, is set on pretending to be deeply interested in a coffee stain on the table, fingertips drumming on his cup of mocha and cheeks flushed in embarassment as his mind travels back, contemplating how everything changed with his ill-fated arrival.  
  
The 20th ward had been uncharacteristically quiet until six months ago, when Kise made the soon-to-be lifechanging decision to move there.  
As fate had it, a pretty known group labelled Rakuzan (Kise never  _ever_ fails to cringe at the mention of their brand), made the exact same decision at the exact same time, hence Kasamatsu's annoying habit of pairing Kise and _them_ together.  
Well, news flash: Kise was _not_  in fact friends with any of those supposedly dreadful ghouls, thank you very much.  
  
However, besides that minuscule detail, every single charge held against him was true. Painfully so.  
  
Truth be told, Kise didn't mean any harm.  
If he transfered to the 20th ward, it was solely for the sake of a better life. Fine, _okay_ , maybe he also wanted to feed freely and be able to actually walk down the street without being targeted by those doves, but hey...can anyone blame him?   
  
Honestly, being a ghoul doesn't come easy to him.  
  
Not that anyone cares.  
  
  
And so, for what he _knows_ it's the millionth time, Kise swallows his guilt like he always does after killing- no, _eating,_ and manages to break free from Kasamatsu'slecture with a half-hearted promise to be more 'careful' and 'respectful' next time. He flashes him a bright smile while pocketing his phone, previously resting on the table, and gracefully motions towards the door.   
  
"See you around, Kasamatsu-senpai."  
"Whatever Kise, just go!"  
  
As he exits the coffee shop and absent-mindedly plays with the hem of his baby blue v-neck, Kise's mind replays the conversation he just had over and over, searching for mistakes or forgotten hints that might have given his pain away.  
  
None.   
  
He's an incredibly gifted actor, isn't he?  
  
  
Thing is, being a ghoul is hard, yes, but being a ghoul with a genuine love for humans...well, that's considerably harder.  
  
  
_That's why._  
  
He drags his feet, trying to keep his chin up.  
  
_I need a reason to try._

* * *

  
 "I can't believe this, Hayama."  
  
Mibuchi Reo is a respectable man - a respectable _ghoul_ , more specifically - which is why he can't possibly indulge the intricated design of insides and bones he's currently glaring at, piercing it with his hazel gaze as if looking at it _very intensely_ could make it disappear.

"But Reo-nee, I was hungry..."  
  
"Hayama" he begins, slender fingers tucking a stray lock of dark hair behind his ear; "You devoured him in plain daylight. That is-"  
  
"That is unforgivable, Kotarō."  
  
_Ah, he's here._  
  
" _Precisely_ what I was trying to tell him." Mibuchi concurs, glancing at the shorter ghoul and shaking his head in sympathetic disapproval.   
  
Truthfully, he never really liked nor trusted the unnaturally one-eyed ghoul, but no questions were ever asked: Akashi's past was and will always be a mystery, a subject to avoid as carefully as possible _no matter what_.  
  
Mibuchi's experienced, he knows how to navigate the implied complex hierarchy tying all of them together and he knows when to bow his head _and_ when to stomp his feet - that's how you survive in their world, fair and square. That's how _everyone_ survives.  
  
Sometimes, he reflects as he watches Akashi's kagune morph his body, you have to compromise.  
  
  
Though most of the times,   
  
  
  
"Eh? W-wait! Stop it, S- Akashi!"  
  
  
  
  
You don't necessarily have to like it.

* * *

 

Momoi's silky hair dances in the wind as she takes a sip of her cocoa and skips beside her grumpy friend and colleague. Her eyes scan Aomine's carefully, a habit she acquired a couple of decades ago, and immediately find what they're looking for:  _worry_.

"Are you really convinced of that theory, Dai-chan?"

"You saw all those corpses, Satsuki."

Her cheerful tone wasn't mirroed by his, not that she expected that in the first place.

Aomine Daiki is a difficult man, a book almost no one is entitled to read.   
His scowl isn't a mask or a cheap defense mechanism, no: he's far too proud and true to himself to build any kind of wall around him, not that he'd ever need such a thing. There's a very limited number of people brave enough to learn about him, observe him, catch the way his eyes glimmer to express all the feelings his voice doesn't seem to cover.

He stands tall and bare, secure in the stealth awareness that no matter what anyone throws at him, no matter how many stones are casted in his direction, he will not crumble.

Aomine Daiki was born a fighter.

"So they're here, huh? Rakuzan..." Momoi questions, tone attentive as usual.

"The modus operandi proves it, yeah."

"Kagami will definitely freak out, don't you think? But Wakamatsu is surely- _oh God._ "

"Huh?"

Momoi suddenly stops walking, a splash of gold prepotently claiming her attention.  
  
She possesses a rather extraordinary sense of detail, she always has, but even the slowest idiot could've seen it just as clearly.  
There's a guy standing in the middle of-

"DAI-CHAN, WAIT!"

Her screams bounce back against her own rib cage as she watches Aomine throw himself in the traffic, tackling a man out of the way.

Her bottom lip shakes.

* * *

Kise knows there's a car coming his way, he really does, but for some cruel joke of fate his feet are glued _right in the middle of the street_.   
  
He feels the engine of his brain folding and unfolding possibilities, reactions, sounds, but nothing of what he's currently taking into consideration is remotely close to a solution.  
  
He's stuck there for absolutely no reason _whatsoever_.  
He's gonna be hit by that stupid Volvo _in pubic_.  
His wounds will likely regenerate _in front of everyone._  
  
Fantastic.  
  
Well, it can't be helped, can it?  
This is probably how he goes, he gets run over by an unbelievably ugly car, his monstrosity pops right into those people's faces and the doves, the fucking doves identify him and take him out once and for all.  
  
  
So much for trying.  
  
  
As his lungs deflate to let a sigh out of his system, Kise closes his eyes and waits.  
  
_It's okay._  
_I've fought enough._  
_I can rest n-_  
  
  
_**Crash.**_  
  
  
Kise blinks.  
  
Is this what being hit by a car feels like? It's...not like he expected it.  
First of all, where are the sirens? The horrified screams? The movie clichès? Is the trigger of his demise _really_ going to be so plain?   
  
Disappointment.  
  
  
His long eyelashes part to reveal liquid gold staring at the sky, back pressed against the concrete and a man standing right on top of him and _wait a minute_.  
  
Kise's chin presses against his collarbones as his gaze stabs right through a mess of navy hair resting on his broad chest and okay, he may not be the smartest fellow out there, but he seriously doesn't understand what the hell is going on.  
  
He's about to demand an explanation, a name, _something_ , but his new acquaintance is irritatingly quicker.  
  
  
"Why," he mutters, voice low and guttural yet surpringly alluring; "Why the _fuck_ were you standing in the middle of the _fucking street?"_

 


	2. Navy Blue

The lightbulb precariously hanging from the roof flickers a few times, but Akashi doesn’t seem to mind. He sits on a wooden chair with his legs crossed, casually leaning against the seatback with half-lidded eyes.   
The abandoned building they designated for the meeting is beyond squallid, to use a polite euphemism, but it’s the best option in order to discuss the current situation without being intercepted - Rakuzan needs to regroup and examine the recent events as carefully as possible, no matter how hard it is.   
They lost Hayama, plain and simple.  
He  _had_  to take him out, it was for everyone’s good after all.  
Yes, Akashi reasons, his murder was fully justified; but the pain...the pain’s still there, just like the menace every single ghoul in the 20th ward is soon going to have to face.   
At the end of day, though, a loss is a loss and an enemy is an enemy.   
Again, plain and simple.  
  
Akashi shifts in his seat and straightens his back, processing the impending fate swaying its scythe on their heads. Practically speaking, it was only a matter of time before things got out of hand. Red eyes scan the room, slowly snaking from Mibuchi’s lean figure to Nebuya’s muscular one, only to jerk towards Mayuzumi who just made his habitually quiet entrance.  
Their faces look unreal, almost covered in glaze and wax like those unsettling dummies he used to play with when he still had a life worth of the label.  
  
They’re not scared, he observes.  
   
They’re just broken.  
  
Kotarō never showed any sign of violent tendencies before, not in the slightest. He is...he  _was_  a functional specimen of their species, someone who learned how to adapt and feed without damaging their fragile community, he was what sappy humans would call a nice person. A good man, indeed.  
Losing him was a tough blow, something no one really expected and, consequentially, something none of them knows how to handle.  
Unsurprisingly, Akashi has a pretty clear idea of what happened.  
He senses the reason behind his companion’s burst of inconsiderate behaviour, he knows something’s up, and how could he not?  
  
Being a ghoul means costantly observing one’s surroundings, scheming and lying and designing progessively harder ways to survive, to build a decent life. Although humans see their race as a monumental tidal wave of danger, Akashi knows better.   
The  _real_  danger lies in the bonds tying their worlds together, it’s in their feelings and desires and ambitions.   
Wanting to be human is what makes a ghoul desperate, and desperate means dangerous most of the times.   
  
Someone who doesn’t have anything to lose won’t hesitate to destroy, burn everything to the ground, break whatever's standing in the way.   
It has nothing to do with so called ‘survival instincts’, since it's not about surviving.   
They survive, everyone does.  
  
No, it entirely revolves around  _living_.  
  
“Kotarō was corrupted.” he begins, standing up from his uncomfortable throne and approaching the center of the room, bathing in the artificial light as the scarlet of his eyes glows under the neon rays.   
  
“What do you mean  _corrupted_?”  
  
Akashi’s head turns to Nebuya, whose powerful voice ricocheted against the moldy walls just a second ago. His lips curve in a grin, a knowing expression everyone can regognize blindly by now. It’s code for silence, a quiet demand for undivided attention and, at the same time, it’s a terrifying threat no one wants to receive.  
Nebuya’s biceps flex as he crosses his arms and nods slowly, granting Akashi time to explain himself. In the opposite corner of the room, Mibuchi and Mayuzumi stand unnaturally still and observe their charade wordlessly, evidently wise enough to keep their mouths shut.   
  
Akashi produces a slim folder from the lucid leather briefcase he carried there and carelessly drops it on a small wooden table standing right in front of him, an old piece of furniture likely to be infested by blood-thristy termites.  
  
“Take a look.” he simply instructs, turning his back on his companions and motioning back towards the chair. He sits once again and rests his chin on tangled fingers, narrowing his eyes to analyse their expressions with godly accuracy.  
  
Mibuchi’s bony fingers fly to flip the pages, eyes widening in realization.  
  
“It’s a list of all the ghouls in the ward.” he states flatly, hazel eyes travelling from Akashi’s to Nebuya’s. Mayuzumi stands right behind him, completely ignoring his request to examine the material he provided. However, from the way his lips are pressed in a thin pale line, Akashi can clearly deduce he’s just as attentive as the others.   
  
“Precisely. Please, keep reading.”   
  
Nebuya raises a brow and gruffly steals the folder from Reo’s hands, earning a muffled protest coming from him. He shrugs it off and starts scanning it with greedy eyes, hungry for any sort of explanation.   
  
It takes him ten minutes.  
No more, no less.  
  
“ _Hanamiya_.”  
  
“Yes.” Akashi concurs, a spark of mutual understanding flickering between their gazes.   
  
“Hanamiya?” Mibuchi joins their exchange with shaky voice and clenched fists, turning his head to face Nebuya, then Akashi, then Nebuya again.   
  
“I thought we took care of him a month ago, Akashi.”  
  
“We did.”   
His reply is quick, sharp as a knife, impossible to question.  
  
Akashi takes pride in how clean their victory was, how precise the cut he inflicted on Hanamiya’s throat turned out to be. Hanamiya Makoto is dead, fair and square. He made sure of that not too long ago.  
  
“It’s a substitute, an impostor if you will. Someone else has likely taken over Kirisaki Daichi. Someone equally dangerous.”  
  
Kirisaki Daichi is a name known all too well in Tokyo, maybe even in the entirity of Japan.   
Every single ghoul has heard of it and feared it, feared the terrifying ability of their chief to turn peaceful individuals into merciless killing machines. Hanamiya Makoto dragged down in the abyss of his insanity an infinite number of ghouls, exterminating an even bigger amount of humans in the process. The population in the 11th ward was drastically reduced to a third of its original count and no one,  _absolutely no one_  will ever be able to quantify how much blood was spilled.  
Many innocent ghouls were sold out by their friends and families, hunted down and tortured by doves to obtain meaningless pieces of information.  
On the other hand, an equally big number decided to take their own lives as a last weak form of protest. They put an end to their existence to escape the horrid reality they were living, sure, but they also wished to send a signal and convey their frustration, their utter terror. Needless to say, it didn’t work.  
  
Hanamiya didn’t stop, no.  
He elected his own race as the enemy.  
He infected it, spread the germ of his insanity, carried on his crusade against life itself.  
Pulverize everything from the inside, force ghouls to kill and be killed, purify the world.  
That was simultaneously his mantra and his design.   
  
Taking him out was a challenge even for someone as strong and experienced as Akashi, but as fate had it, he somehow mustered the steadiness necessary to lead Rakuzan to victory without losing more than five men. The feud was over when Hanamiya’s skull rolled on the ground, but alas, the damage was done.   
  
Lives were lost and Rakuzan was labelled as dangerous and unstable.   
Considering everything they had to endure, a dark reputation was a sheer price to pay anyway.  
  
Until Kirisaki somehow managed to rise back from the rotten ashes it was confined to, that is.  
  
  
“I still don’t see how Hayama fits in the picture, Akashi.”  
  
  
Mayuzumi’s remark is startling, almost disturbing. The quiet ghoul usually restrains his tongue from rolling out any kind of sound, but Akashi expects venom dripping from his words whenever he decides to actually open his mouth. The head of Rakuzan isn’t an easy target from that kind of twisted game, though. He’s able to recognize ulterior motives and hidden accusations in the fraction of a second, and this time was no exception.  
  
He knows Mayuzumi, he knows what he’s thinking, he also knows Mibuchi and Nebuya are dwelling on the same suspicion.   
  
“I didn’t make up a theory to justify Kotarō’s murder, Chihiro.”  
  
Nebuya’s muscles tense considerably as Mibuchi inhales sharply, almost as if he’s trying to suck some sort of newly found confidence from the oxygen surrounding him. Akashi pretends not to notice and keeps on talking, calmer than ever.  
  
“Like I said, he was corrupted. It’d explain his sudden violence, not to mention the way he  _mauled_ that human. He was dragged into their madness, Chihiro. It started again.”  
  
Akashi slips the folder from Nebuya’s cold grip without losing his signature composure and secures it back in his briefcase, clicking it closed.   
He doesn’t comment on the terrified expressions staring right at him, piercing through his ribcage and digging his flesh in a feverish quest for answers, solutions, escape routes.  
  
“What now, Akashi?”   
  
He raises a brow to reply to Mibuchi’s question, a subtle way of underlining an obvious response.  
  
“We wait, Reo.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

Kise despises  _everything_  about hospitals.   
The stench of dysinfectant, the white tiles, the huge set of bleeding humans layed at his mercy like potential dishes...yeah, he doesn’t exactly fancy that kind of enviroment, yet  _there he is_.  
After the absurd rescuing his saviour performed, a woman basically trotted to their side and forced both of them to “seek medical help”, not without a good dose of  _how could you’_ s and  _I can’t believe you did that’_ s _._    
Honestly, how was he supposed to decline? What sane man would refuse to see a doctor after almost dying under the wheels of a rampaging car? Yeah. No one.  
Long story short, he’s currently sprawled on a plastic chair definitely too uncomfortable for his taste, sitting _right_  next to a tall muscular guy whose jawline should probably be illegal.  
Kise shakes his head in disbelief and mentally lists an impressive variety of profanities as he steals the umpteenth glance at his odd companion, narrowing his eyes at the intensity of the man he met no more than forty minutes ago.   
He drinks in the bronze of his skin and barely fights the sacrilegious instinct of reaching out his fingertips to touch it, feel it, mark it. There’s something about this person -  _Aomine Daiki_ , he mentally recalls - that simply keeps him there, sat in utter discomfort for a check-up he knows he doesn’t need.   
  
It’s not a wise choice, really. In fact, it’s far from wise, but Kise’s never been one for caution and wisdom. His instinct, the twist of his insides, the burning sensation he feels and the blood pooled in his cheeks tell him to stay, and so he does.  
  
He  _stays_.  
  
“So, Aomine-san...tell me something about yourself.”  
  
Leave it to Kise to come up with the least captivating pick-up line in the history of  _ever_.  
In his defense, he’s usually pretty good at this sort of thing. He knows how to mold other people’s feelings to his advantage and, truth be told, he never faced the supposedly soul-crushing act of rejection.   
He’s not just a charmer, he’s a  _winner_.  
  
Aomine Daiki, however, is something else entirely, a whole different level.   
He’s known him for less than a hour, yet Kise can confidently say he’s not someone who’d fall for basic tricks and a couple of well-calibrated compliments. He’s obviously a tough nut to crack, and more importantly, it’s someone he’s not even supposed to want. Not that he wants him  _yet_. Probably.  
  
Thing is, sometimes people just click.   
It’s a pull no human - or ghoul - could ever hope to fight, and as sappy as that sounds, Kise’s a believer. He believes in destiny, he believes some people are simply meant for each other, and no matter how odd it is, he feels like Aomine is the harbor he belongs to.   
  
“Nothing much to say about me.”   
  
His new friend’s reply is short and concise, almost reprimanding, but Kise doesn’t mind. He bathes in his gruff voice, wraps himself with it and cherishes it in the depths of his soul like a precious artefact he secretely managed to steal. He smiles widely, a little too widely for the depressing waiting room they’re in, and nods enthusiastically.  
  
“I see, Aomine-san is a silent man. That’s actually very cool.”  
  
Aomine’s brow jerks up, mouth curved in a menacing scowl and eyes sparkling quite dangerously. Kise almost expects him to punch him with extreme nonchalance, he even starts tensing up to prepare his jaw for the impact, but instead Aomine does something miraculous.  
  
He widens his eyes and  _snorts_.  
  
Aomine  _snorts_  at Kise’s comment.  
  
Kise’s hand travels to his stomach in a heartbeat, confusion written all over his face.   
Are those butterflies or crazy pterodactyls?  
  
“Very cool? What are you, a child?” Aomine inquires, leaning back on his chair and stubbornly ignoring its squeak of protest. “Fucking hospital chairs.” he adds, maybe for emphasis.  
  
Kise chuckles, taking a brief moment to stop and marvel at the reality of his laughter.  
He’s smiling,  _genuinely_  smiling for the first time in eons of dull acting, and it’s because of Aomine Daiki’s words, his navy eyes, his awkward but determined sterness and his perpetual distaste for hospital chairs.   
  
“So mean, Aomine-san!”  
  
Aomine’s blue eyes roll to the ceiling in what’s probably supposed to be a display of frustration, but much to his own surprise, Kise finds it weirdly endearing.  
  
“Dai-chan! Kise-san!”  
A shrilling voice forces Kise to snap out of his inconvenient adoration of Aomine’s every move, making him lift his golden eyes to meet big, rosy orbs.  
  
“I talked to a couple of nurses, you’re good to go! Honestly, it’s a miracle you’re both uninjuried.”   
  
The woman standing in front of them is quite petite, exception made for a fairly generous décolleté. Her long hair is dyed with a pastel shade of pink and the light make-up she chose to wear enhances her long eyelashes and her full lips.   
She’s what any other man would define as a rare beauty.  
Kise nearly slaps himself when he senses a hint of sudden jealously snaking up his neck and making him shudder at the thought of a relationship between Aomine and said woman -  _Momoi Satsuki_ , was it?  
  
No, they probably aren’t in a relationship.   
Granted, they’re likely pretty close, but there is no casual contact going on between them, no lingering looks, no physical reassurance or clear sign of anything more than a solid friendship tying them together. The blond ghoul hardly resists the urge to drag his large palm down his face when he realizes just how  _satisfied_  that makes him feel.  
  
“Great. Let’s go, Satsuki.” Aomine stands up and stretches his arms, biceps visibly flexing under the tight v-neck shirt he’s wearing.   
Kise tries not to stare too much, humming awkwardly in a vain attempt to focus on something else, something  _safer_.  
  
“Dai-chan, you should at least say goodbye to Kise-san!” Momoi protests, hands set on her sides in what reminds Kise of a typical motherly position. She’s immensely smaller than Aomine, yet he seems to take her words into affectionate consideration without the smallest hint of grudge.   
  
“Right. See you around, Kise.”  
  
_Oh._  
  
“W-Wait, Aomine-san! Hand me your phone for a second.”  
  
Oh, no.  
  
“Huh? What for?”  
  
_Bad idea._  
  
“Just do it.”  
  
Definitely _a bad idea._  
  
“All done, here’s your phone. Thanks.”  
  
Well, it’s too late to bail now.  
  
“Did you just save your number here?” Aomine asks, cocking his head to the side and furrowing his eyebrows.  
  
“Of course! Call me, okay? I’m gonna make it up to you. You know, for saving my life.”  
  
Kise knows for a fact it’s a lie, a total blatant lie.  
Aomine didn’t save his life at all, not even close.   
In fact, he would’ve been just fine even if that Volvo ran right into him repeatedly, but a man’s gotta improvise, right? Well, it just so happens Kise’s always been a pretty good improvisor, thank you very much.  
The truth is that no matter how wrong it is, he just can’t deal with losing sight of Aomine forever.  
It’s irrational and potentially dangerous, suicidal even,  but he  _needs_  to hold onto him, cling to his ankle and bask in his presence. Kise felt more alive in the handful of minutes he got to spend beside Aomine than in his twenty-three years of life, and as selfish as it is, he’s not going to give that up.  
  
Not now, not anytime soon.  
  
“Alright. Well, uh...I’ll see you like, soon.”   
  
The immense relief Kise felt as soon as Aomine’s lips stopped moving was nothing compared to the intense feeling of dread hovering over his heart, a cruel reminder of how different their lives are.  
Aomine’s probably a good man, one who dreams of building a functional family and growing old with a pretty girl like Momoi. What did Kise have to offer, besides blood and broken bones? Not much really.  
Even still, even with logic forcefully shattering the thin crystal of his fantasies, Kise wants it, wants  _him_.  
  
“Yeah.” Kise replies, immaculate teeth showing in a wide grin.  “Soon.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

The Ghoul Countermeasures Bureau’s branch in the 20th ward is located in a rather fancy building, one of those professional looking skyscrapers with giant glass windows and a helicopter landing site on the roof. It’s also where a famous insurance company resides, which is a pretty convenient cover for their federal activities. No ghoul could ever suspect such a place, not when their position is so obvious that it actually looks way too unlikely. That’s the basic key to keep any kind of information secret, after all:  _hide it in plain sight_.

Momoi chuckles at the memory of Aomine’s first comment about the place, recalling the scowl curving his lips and the way he wrinkled his nose, as if personally offended by the expensive furniture and the red velvet carpets covering almost every inch of the floor.  Her heels click on the marble tiles of the elevator as she turns towards the buttons in a fluid movement and quickly steals a glimpse of the large mirror to check her reflection in the process, frowining at the ruins of her once perfectly tight updo.

“You going to see Harasawa?”

A familiar gruff voice catches her attention in an istant, and Momoi doesn’t need to look up in order to identify its owner in a mere millisecond.

“Kagamin!” she sings, immediately motioning to grab her colleague’s arm with an habitual affectionate gesture, earning a weak sound of protest from him she punctually ignores.

A big guy stares down at her, thick eyebrows and a sweet aura countering his impressive size. Kagami Taiga turned into nothing but a gentle giant whenever she was around, which was very, very lovable.

“Yo, Momoi-san.”

“I already told you to drop the –san, Kagamin!”

A dark shade of red starts speading on Kagami’s cheeks and matches his crimson hair as Momoi smiles widely at his mortified expression, satisfied with the aftermath of her fake complaint.  

“I’m actually going to see Wakamatsu, by the way. Turns out four more bodies were found in the restroom of a shopping centre.”

“In the restroom?!” Kagami’s eyes widen inhumanly as his eyebrows arch unbelievably fast, disbelief clearly tattooed all over his face. “Seriously, what the fuck’s going on? Things used to be quiet here, right? Six bodies in two days…that’s a lot, man.”

Momoi nods solemnly and mirrors Kagami’s concerned expression, fingers curling around her cellphone in a reflexive attempt to find some source of steadiness in the vortex of madness they’re currently stuck in.

“They’re not even trying to hide them. It’s like they want us to notice, probably to send a message.” She reasons, eyes narrowing as she mentally examines the wide set of possibilities she’s already gone through again and again. Honestly, every option’s simply worse than the other.

“They’re challenging us, I tell you. They think they can do whatever the fuck they want, that’s what’s going on. Fucking monsters.” Kagami clenches his fists, knuckles white as snow. The fire in his eyes is the same kind of flame Momoi saw in Aomine’s eyes,  a spark seeking for unconditional justice.

She’s witnessed a couple of their joined operations, she knows how fierce and passionate those two can be when innocent lives are at stake.

It’s more than desire to avenge the ones belonging to their race, it’s pure need for confrontation,  for confirmation even. Both Kagami and Aomine aren’t killers, not remotely. They’re two men fighting for a cause they need to believe in for the sake of their sanity, and seeing ghouls destroying and feasting on human bodies like that is clearly the perfect chance to find reassurance of their rightfulness.

Of course neither of them ever said a word about it, they’d dig a hole and bury themselves six feet under before actually acknowledging their coping mechanism and voicing it to anyone.

Unfortunately, Momoi Satsuki never needed to hear or see anything in order to take full conscience of her surroundings and noticing the smallest detail. 

Honestly, she’s the best bloodhound of the Bureau for a reason.

“How’s Aomine holding up anyway?”

“Oh, Dai-chan? He’s doing well, thank God. I thought our last raid scarred him pretty bad, but he managed to pick himself up again. He always does, right?”

Kagami seems to relax at the change of topic, positively intrested in Aomine’s situation. He whistles at the ring of the elevator signalling they reached the designated floor and steps aside to let Momoi walk out first, awkwardly blushing when she gasps dramatically and calls him a true gentleman.  

His reaction doesn’t go unnoticed by Momoi, who chooses to ignore it in order to spare her dear co-worker and friend  _at least_ some embarassment.

“That’s good to hear, by the way. Honestly, if I saw what he saw that night…well, that wasn’t a pretty scene.”

“It wasn’t, yeah. Twelve bodies.  _Twelve_. I thought we reached the bottom last month, but with Rakuzan back…”

 _With Rakuzan back, we’re done for good_.

That’s what Momoi’s thinking, but there’s no way she can ever say something like that. Not to Kagami, not to Aomine, not to Wakamatsu.

She’s always been a good guesser and her gut’s hardly ever wrong,  forget modesty.

She feels something’s off, something’s definitely missing.

The puzzle’s pretty much clear and solved to any other observer though.   
Rakuzan comes to the 20th ward and the endless cycle of reckless murders begins, it can’t possibly be a coincidence. They have something to do with it, that’s the only possible explanation…and yet, Momoi’s not convinced. What is she overlooking? What does she need to see in order to understand?

However it is, she needs to figure that out.

Everyone’s life is in her hands, completely entrusted to the agile gear of her brain.

“…-san, Momoi-san!”

“Eh? What is it?”

Momoi’s rosy pupils shrink as she focuses on the man who probably just joined her and Kagami in the luxurious hallway, but the smile she promptly displays doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Wakamatsu Kousuke stands tall and proud right in front of her, wide chest and spiky blonde hair included.

His gaze isn’t welcoming nor warm, considering how his default expression never really strays away from the annoyed and unimpressed look he’s wearing right now.

“Rakuzan, we were discussing their next move. Do you think they’re planning on sabotaging us?”

“What? That’d be insane, even for Rakuzan. Right? Guys?” The urgency in Kagami’s tone fills the air, rendering it heavier than the polluted smog filling Tokyo’s sky. Momoi suddenly finds it hard to breathe normally.   
Everyone’s basically thinking the same thing: if Rakuzan’s targeting the Bureau, a war’s about to break out. They’re five of the strongest and deadliest ghouls in their database, taking them out isn’t going to be a piece of cake. Not at all.

“We should get Aomine and talk to the old man, that’s that.”

Wakamatsu shrugs and nods to the big wooden door on their left, clicking his tongue impatiently.

“It’s Harasawa-san, Wakamatsu-kun.”

“Whatever, call your Dai-chan and let’s get this over with.”

Momoi rolls her eyes and tugs at her earring, biting her lip as she considers calling Aomine and getting him to talk to Harasawa as well.

She would call him, she  _really_  would, but...well, something clicked in him as soon as he met Kise, that’s clear as day.

Truth be told, she can’t really rememeber the last time he showed interest in someone, anyone. She can’t put her finger on the last time he snorted in amusement, with wrinkly eyes and a big hand covering his mouth, either. Hell, she doesn’t even know when he last resembled an alive being worth of being called human.  
There’s no doubt about it: Kise’s bright smile and golden gaze turned on some kind of switch in Aomine, and as stupid as that sounds, Momoi doesn’t want to rob him of a day off he could probably use to call Kise and meet him again.

After all he’s been through, after all the blood he washed off his hands, Aomine definitely deserves a truce.

Yeah, he deserves Kise and his solar warmth.

“Now that I think about it, Dai-chan had an important appointment today. I doubt he’d be able to make it.”

She clicks her heels together and puffs her cheeks before letting out a purposely exaggerated sigh.

“I’ll fill him in, okay? Don’t worry, let’s just go knock.”

Kagami and Wakamatsu don’t look too convinced, but they know better than starting a dispute with the one and only Momoi Satsuki. Kagami nods and lets his knuckle hit the refined wood twice before stepping back and taking a deep breath, waiting to get permission to enter their Chief’s office.

“Come in.”

Momoi fixes the hem of her skirt and takes a confident step inside, ready to plan a war she doesn’t want to fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, I made some convenient changes to the TG universe.  
> Again, this is just loosely based on said franchise, so please don't expect any kind of accurate recreation of the story! :3


	3. Falling

“So what you’re saying is,” Kasamatsu asks, brows impossibly close to his hairline and eyes narrowed menacingly, “What you’re saying is…you gave your number to a guy?”  
  
Their favourite and conveniently unpopular coffee shop is filled with the strong smell of caffeine, much to Kise’s absolute delight. His nostrils let the scent in with a single deep breath as he straightens his back and leans on the soft armchair, ignoring the clear signs of impending anger coming from his dear friend and fellow ghoul.   
His mind swims back to yesterday’s encounter with Aomine, and as he makes sure to stop and reminisce about the beautiful navy of his short hair and the liquid fire of his skin, Kise knows he’s undoubtedly, inescapably, embarassingly done for.    
Well, he’s never quite experienced romance in its deepest meaning – let alone love at first sight – but be that as it may, he can’t help but feel like he’s come to deserve it.    
  
After all, Kise’s life has been nothing but a constant vortex of boredom and blood and frustration until now, albeit he somehow managed to soldier through all of it. Being a ghoul is already enough of a reason for his lack of enthusiasm about…well,  _everything_ , but what makes it worse, what  _really_ tops it off lies entirely in his utter inability to grow close to others, to connect.   
He doesn’t respect many people, that’s undebatably true.   
He doesn’t particularly like anyone either, exception made for the guys in Kaijō, maybe.   
He’s just what Kasamatsu likes to call a lone wolf hiding behind a cheerful plexiglass mask, an actor, someone who’s there to occupy a small portion of the world without actively contributing to it.   
  
Kise exists,  he just  _is_.  
  
Back when he was still unscarred and unbroken, he used to think of himself as a dull star or a quiescent volcano, a potentially bright entity reduced to ashes by the mere circumstances of life. While that romantic melancholia has always been enough to get him out of bed every single morning for the past two decades, Aomine’s sudden entrance in his life makes him want to start burning, living.  
However, Kise isn’t shallow enough to accept his newly found awareness with ease. It’s  a dangerous path that could – and, realistically speaking,  _will_  – lead him to his decisive annihilation.  
  
It’s an issue that goes far beyond the obvious hardships of falling for the fragile complexity of a human.  
Kise’s a fairly dangerous ghoul, sure, but he’s also far from lovable for an entirely different set of reasons.   
He’s difficult, blood-thristy, at  war with himself most of the times.  
How could a man so obviously fierce and alive as Aomine walk beside someone as dim as him? No, more importantly, how can he even  _begin_  to reciprocate Kise’s interest, his feelings?  
  
 Feelings.   
  
Although he’s known Aomine for a grand total of twenty-six hours, there’s no denying the intensity of the affection he already nurtures for the man. He spent years and years trying to catch sight of that peculiar connection, and as ironic as it sounds, Kise found it in the sharp cheekbones and blue eyes of a human.   
  
The blond exhales loudly, emptying his lungs completely and basking in the momentary lack of oxygen.  
  
There’s an entire bible of reasons for him to regret the decision of establishing some sort of contact with an ordinary man - and therefore get rid of his ultra modern smartphone in the vain hope of diverting a call that likely won’t come -  but even still, there he is.  
He’s sitting in a  _very_  pastel,  _very_ vintage coffee shop in a state of feverish adoration triggered by the sole thought of Aomine Daiki. He has it bad, he has it way too bad.  
  
“Yeah,” he finally replies, uncaring of how short an answer that is.   
  
Kise closes his eyes and rests his head on the wooden table, an exasperated groan resonating in the small room. Thankfully and surprisingly enough, Kasamatsu rolls his eyes and decides to ignore him without any sort of corporal punishment to reprimand his manners.   
  
“Is he from Shūtoku? Your ass is always glued to that guy’s…what’s his name again? Takao  _Something,_ was it?”  
  
“ _Kazunari._  Takao Kazunari,” Kise corrects him, adrenaline levels quickly decreasing now that his trail of thought is drifting further and further away from Aomine Daiki. “And no, it’s not Takao.”  
  
“Kise, I swear to God, if it’s Moriyama I’m going to throttle you.“  
  
“It’s not Moriyama, senpai!” Kise snaps, lifting his head in the fraction of a second to display what he’s sure is an indignant expression. He’s marginally aware of the somewhat steamy looks sent his way by the petite waitress standing at the counter,  but alas, he can’t be bothered to pay any attention to her. He’s used to being stared at anyway, so he knows how to navigate that sort of situation pretty well. He makes it a point not to shift his gaze from Kasamatsu’s, who currently looks completely oblivious to the discomfort Kise’s experiencing.  
  
“Fine, then who is it? We haven’t heard from Yosen in a while, so-“  
  
“It’s not…he’s not part of any of the groups in the ward.”  
His reply comes a heartbeat too late, and of course Kasamatsu notices. Of course.  
  
His thick eyebrows twitch and Kise expects him to push further, to investigate the matter in an evident attempt of testing the waters and detecting any possible danger for Kaijou. It’s what Kasamatsu would do in any circumstance, it’s what he did countless times in the past.   
Yeah, he’s undoubtedly going to pester him until he’s sure,  _absolutely positive_  of the safety of his new interest.   
  
Thing is, Kise can’t hold that behaviour against him: Kasamatsu Yukio’s life hasn’t exactly been a piece of cake.  
He was the one who struggled the most with his natural condition, the one who still despises himself in spite of the rational acceptance of the reality of things, and yet, he’s always,  _always_  been Kaijō’s pillar.  
He worked hard to bring them together and keep them safe through every single storm, showing an attentiveness that went - and goes - far beyond the common features of any responsible leader.  
He’s been a father, a brother, a friend, a mentor. He still is, of course. He’ll always be.  
All things considered, it’s no wonder Kise’s gut tells him to anticipate a very thorough interrogation coming his way.  
  
What Kasamatsu chooses to do, however, isn’t just plain unexpected.   
It’s simply miraculous.  
  
“Look, I get it,” he starts, and Kise’s eyes widen at the paradox of his icy gaze looking just as warm as an indian summer, “You’re not ready to talk about it, that’s fine. Just don’t get us in trouble, understood?”  
  
Kise lets his words hit him, permeate his mind and his skin.  
He wasn’t ready for acceptance, wasn’t ready to be given free rein, wasn’t even  _sure_  of wanting such freedom. Having Kasamatsu’s approval means he’s the only one in charge of deciding what to do, how to handle it...and well, if he’s being honest with himself, that prospect is rather scary.  
No, he didn’t expect approval at all, but surprisingly enough,  _he has it_.   
  
“I won’t let you down, Kasamatsu-senpai.”  
  
Both of their lips curve to display a smile of understanding, and albeit Kise’s all too graceful for his friend’s compliance, he can’t help but cringe at the sudden feeling of dread washing his bones.  
  
Where does he go from there?

* * *

  
  
Aomine Daiki’s a big guy. Always been, always will be.  
  
He never had a problem with it though, nope.  
He liked to tower over those punk-ass bullies in middle school and telling them exactly where to stick their empty threats, after all. It made him feel stronger, safer – and well, their scared-as-fuck expressions were just a nice bonus.  
Thing is, he’s not just  _tall_ : he’s downright big in every single aspect. His hands are large and calloused, his shoulders broad and strong. Hell, even his feet are huge.  
  
Yes, Aomine Daiki’s a big guy.  
  
So why,  _why_   _the fuck_  did he think it’d be a good idea to sleep on his fucking scrubby couch?  
  
Not without a good dose of frustrated groans, Aomine blinks a few times to erase a suspiciously familiar shade of gold from the back of his lids and tries to stretch his arms a couple of times, failing spectacularly and displaying a deadpan expression as the sole result of his attempts.  
A quick glance at the digital clock on his stereo tells him it’s late in the morning, almost time for lunch. Great.   
  
“Satsuki, you in here?” he calls, half hoping to hear his friend’s crystalline voice reprimanding him for falling asleep on the couch. Satsuki, however, doesn’t seem to be in his apartment. She's probably at the Bureau, which is too bad, Aomine reflects, because now he has to actually get up if he wants to get his hands on any sort of meal. The noises coming from his stomach ricochet against the hand he has resting on his abdomen, a clear sign it’s indeed time to man up and leave his uncomfortable position.  
  
“Christ, my back…” he mutters, rolling over to push his stiff body off the damn thing.  
He lands on the hideous carpet Satsuki picked for him with a muffled  _thud_ , not even bothering to use his bicep to soften the fall. No point in that, really.  
  
His eyes jerk to the coffee table beside him, focusing on the the luminescent display of his phone which, incidentally, has Kise’s phone number carved in its database.  Aomine’s never going to admit it – not out loud, anyway – but he spent an embarassingly long amount of time pondering just  _what to do with it_.  
Although he sort of wants to see the blond’s annoyingly perfect face again, several hours of painful concentration served to convince him to delete it for good and finally stop thinking about it.  
  
It’s for the best, after all.  
  
With his peculiar career choice, personal conncections represent nothing but an ulterior reason to stay awake at night. He already spends enough time worrying about Satsuki’s life, so to put it bluntly, he definitely doesn’t need someone else’s face to haunt his worst nightmares, thank you very much.   
His heart shrinks at the thought and although he tries to ignore the familiar sensation, he knows his gut’s pushing him in the right – and wiser –  direction. It’s okay, though. No matter what Satsuki says, he’s alright on his own. Things are  _fine_ , bottom line.  
  
Aomine jolts up with a sigh of annoyance, ignoring the sudden stab of pain coming from his muscles. After ten solid hours of sleeping on that poor excuse of a sofa, he’s clealy still way too tense to risk sudden movements. Shaking his head, he grabs his phone and squints his eyes to make out the tiny icons in its menu, looking for the contacts.   
  
It takes him a minute, but a couple of well-calibrated taps let him access the section he’s looking for.  _There_.  
  
He doesn’t have many numbers saved, if he’s being honest. There’s Satsuki, his colleagues, delivery pizza…yeah, that’s pretty much it. It’s not like he doesn’t want any kind of social interaction outside of his work’s orbit, though. He briefly considered a functional relationship at one point in the past, even went as far as asking a pretty hot chick out, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t bring himself to start anything. It’s always been hard for him to take a break from the terrifying visions he's had to endure because of what he does for a living, but after the incident with Rakuzan a month ago, after the dozen of dismembered bodies he saw in that fucking field...there's no way he can involve anyone else.  
  
Aomine doesn’t want someone to get hurt.  
He doesn’t want  _Kise_  to get hurt.  
  
Damn it, he’s known the guy for what, twenty hours or so? And yet he already feels protective of him, he’s already sacrifing his own volition to keep him safe from the horrors of his life. If that isn’t love at first sight, Aomine doesn’t know what is.    
  
His thumb hovers on Kise’s name for a second, two, ten, a minute.  
  
It's with wide eyes and utter disbelief that he realizes it: he can’t bring himself to do it.  
  
He’s cut ties with his family, he’s stopped smoking and drinking, he’s denied himself any kind of pleasure for years, and even still he can’t seem to delete a stupid phone number. You’d think his will was tougher than that, but no, _it isn’t_.  
  
“Fuck this,” he snaps, throwing his phone away in a single hasty movement.   
  
What’s so interesting about this Kise person anyway? Sure, he’s illegally pretty, he shines as bright as the goddamn sun and okay,  _fine_ , maybe he’s the first person to make him smile in years, but that’s not a valid explanation for the heat pooling in his cheeks whenever he so much as beings to  _think_  about him, right?   
What is he, a fucking school girl?   
  
Aomine rolls his eyes at his own idiotic reasoning and drags his bare feet to the small kitchen he’s grown to like so much, cream tiles included. He opens the fridge with an automatic movement, quickly scanning its content before slamming it back closed.  _Nothing_. He should’ve gone grocery shopping yesterday, but as much as it bothers him to admit it, the whole Kise situation got the best of his attention span.   
  
He’s standing in his hall ten minutes later, basketball sneakers and hacked expression on.  _Well, what’s done is done_ , he concludes. Burgers sound like a good idea anyway.  
  
It’s only when he’s walked a couple of miles that he sees it: there’s an awfully graceful blonde guy jogging his way.  
  
_Fuck, you must be shittin' me._  
  
There's no way he could've predicted Kise rising from the depths of the Earth and walk into his neighbourhood, and yet there he is, _right in front of him._  
  
  
Aomine's heart's beating so fast he might as well be a goddamn hummingbird, but he smiles anyway.

* * *

  
  
Momoi and Kagami dismissed Wakamatsu’s triumphant blabbering as soon as they made it out of Harasawa’s office, both of them still visibly shaken by the conclusion their division reached without so much of a hesitation.   
  
“If they seek war, we’ll give them war.”  
  
That was it. That was the plan.  
  
They both widened their eyes in terror the second those words were spoken, completely dumbfounded by the ecstatic noise of agreement coming from their colleague. Wakamatsu’s tendency to erupt and swan dive into fights has never been hidden or dampened by anything, sure, but to look forward to an obvious massacre? That’s too much even for him, Momoi notes.   
  
It’s been five hours since the meeting, five long hours she's spent observing her surroundings and investigating the matter on her own.  
Her colleagues are definitely about to either break or be broken, but truth be told, she’s not too surprised. The spark of obvious challenge lighting up her Boss’ eyes hasn’t gone unnoticed, just like she didn’t fail to catch the clear signs of impatience and resentment mixed with evident fear characterising her colleagues during the past week. The atmosphere in the Bureau changed a lot since the beginning of the murders, after all. Every single agent’s ready for the worst now, as painful as it is to state. Momoi swears she even heard Imayoshi and Sakurai discuss some hazy plan to leave the ward, only to be admonished by a very furious, very frightened Susa.  
  
Humans aren’t made for organized offensive, she thinks, not when their lives are so obviously stuck on the line. They’re ready to kill or be killed, to fight blindly and erase a menace too strong for them to handle. Strategy’s not a part of it, not after last month, when the members of Rakuzan were found standing in that forsaken field with twelve lifeless bodies at their feet. There were women and children there, she recalls with a shiver of utter agony.  
Twelve people were eaten, tore apart, left there to decompose under the bitter look of an impassible Akashi Seijūrō – not to mention the terrifyingly high number of victims and limbs and screams scattered in the entirity of the 11th ward. How could anyone expect any division of the country to work through that kind of emergency with a clear mind? What Rakuzan was accused of doing –  _what Aomine had to see_  –  was unforgivable, horrifying. It deeply affected everyone, from her dear childhood friend to her co-workers. No, she can’t let it happen again, not when she’s not even certain about the true identity of the present killers. There absolutely cannot be a war, not with these premises.   
  
Urged by the nagging and unexplained feeling of doubt, Momoi’s been careful and skeptical in her recent investigation, and rightfully so, she may add. She went through the visual reports of the murders from last month and confronted them with the new set of evidence collected in the past few days: they’re undoubtedly executed by the same hands. The unjustified violence displayed in the homicides is clearly the same, sure, but she’d also seen the state of the victims who were without a doubt killed by Rakuzan’s members throughout the years. It’s a completely different modus operandi, no matter what Aomine or anyone else claims. Rakuzan’s way of feeding never included ripped limbs and open ribcages, it was an act originated by biological need and hunger, not a crude show of brutality.  
It’s a line that Akashi and his group never crossed, but alas, it’s thin enough to go unnoticed by someone with an average sense of detail.  
  
However, if it was a nagging doubt before the meeting, she’s sure of it now.  
Rakuzan’s innocent, relatively speaking. They didn’t commit last month’s massacre, and they surely aren’t planning on starting a war against the CCG.  To put it simply, they were about to fight the wrong enemy.  
  
How to fix this madness, though?    
  
If she’s being completely honest with herself, Momoi’s not so sure she can do it on her own. Although his help would be very much needed, her motherly instinct towards Aomine dictates a clear rule:  _don’t get him in danger, ever_.  There’s no way she can ask him to get involved with her activities, not without any sort of hint and, more importantly, not after what he's been through. It’s her gut and brain against both her Bureau and the yet-to-identify ghouls hiding behind the recent deaths in the ward, with Rakuzan being in the equation as well. This is going to be hard, she determines.  
  
“Kagamin, I have a few errands to run. I’ll be going ahead, alright?” she asks politely, smiling a bit too widely for it to look genuine. She knows Kagami’s too lost in his own sea of worry to notice though, and when he absent-mindedly nods and furrows his eyebrows in ponderation, she can’t help but smirk at the accuracy of her prediction.   
  
“See ya, Momoi.”  
  
“Yeah,” she replies, eyes narrowing a bit as she flicks her phone open.   
  
**_Can’t make it to dinner tonight_** , she quickly types.  ** _Something came up_.  _Don’t bury yourself in burgers._**  
  
“See you, Kagamin.”

* * *

  
  
“Aomine-san!”  
  
Kise jogs – fine,  _sprints_  – to Aomine’s big figure, unable to hide his grin at the sight of the crumpled military shirt he’s wearing.  “Didn’t expect to find you here! Are you going on, uhm…a date, maybe?” he inquires, trying awfully hard to sound as disinterested as possible.   
  
Aomine raises a brow at his sheepish expression, but chooses not to make any audible comment about it. His hand moves awkwardly to scratch his nape in what Kise presumes is a mechanic tic, and  _gosh_ , he might be in love.  
  
“Uh, I was…food. My fridge’s empty, so yeah.”   
  
Kise makes sure to add Aomine’s blatant inability to organize his groceries to the alarmingly long list of things he’s  _absolutely a sucker for_  before replying, smile still miraculously present on his face and a newly found optimism running through his veins.  
“I see, that must suck. You should probably pay more attention to your groceries, mh?”   
  
“Shut up, Kise. It’s all Satsuki’s fault, she’s supposed to remind me of these things,” Aomine states with a click of his tongue, nose wrinkled in a clear display of stern disappointment.  
  
_Ah, Momoi Satsuki_.   
Kise’s mind travels back to the vivid memory of the small, bubbly woman he met the day before. He recalls the marital dynamic going on between the two, and even though he’s positive of the lack of romance in their relationship by now, he can’t help but find it absolutely endearing. Although Aomine looks beyond offended by her behaviour, Kise feels like he’d forgive her for much worse in the blink of an eye.  
   
Well, if he wasn’t sure about his intentions with Aomine just a moment before, when he was sitting in the coffee shop with fear and doubt nibbling at his insides, he’s absolutely in for the big ride after witnessing – and yes, committing to memory – the way Aomine’s navy gaze grows darker when he’s annoyed and the subtle twitch of his eyebrow at the mention of his friend’s affronting betrayal.   
  
It’s right then that  Kise realises he’s had enough dullness for at least a couple of lifetimes.   
It’s selfish, possibly.   
It’s dangerous, definitely.   
It’s also  _very_ stupid and Kise's all too aware of that, but honestly? Fuck it, all they're doing is talk and he's never felt so alive before, not even during the time he's spent with Kaijō. He’s not ready to let go of that feeling, he's not ready to give up on something he wants just because it's difficult, not after sensing his whole being launching itself towards Aomine, almost as if responding to a magnetic pull he can’t possible manage to ignore.   
  
It’s fate, as horrifyingly cheesy as that sounds. It’s simply where he’s supposed to be.  
He just hopes Aomine feels that way too.  
  
And so, Kise has no other choice but to adjust his posture and stand tall with feet solidly anchored to the ground, ready to take a step towards an unknown territory he can't wait to explore.  
  
“Listen, Aomine-san,” he begins, stuffing his shaky hands in his pocket to save himself some of the embarassment. “I could, you know, buy you lunch? I mean, you did save my life. And, uh. Stuff.”  
  
_Stuff._  
  
Kise can barely manage to hold back a groan before lifting his chin and having the breath kicked right out of his lungs by the sight of Aomine's utterly agape expression.  
  
The honey of his eyes merges with the oceans in Aomine’s, and although he detects a bit of hesitation on his part, Kise relaxes as soon as he sees him nod in agreement.   
  
“Lunch sounds good, I’m fucking hungry anyway.”  
  
_Sounds good_ , yes.  
  
Go big or go home, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, it's done! It took me ages to proofread, but I finally managed to do it. (well, I only slept for 4 hours before editing this chapter, so there may be mistakes I missed. I'll definitely re-read it again once I get a good night's sleep!) Anyway, things are gonna get intense pretty soon though, eheh. For now, thank you all for reading :)


	4. Beginnings

Aomine really, _really_ didn’t plan on it.  
  
He didn’t plan on meeting Kise in the middle of the street, he didn’t plan on letting Kise buy him lunch, and he sure as hell didn’t plan on calling him either.  He _wanted_ to, sure, but that’s besides the point.  
  
As he just found out, saying no to Kise is pretty fucking hard. He’s never seen a smile able to reach and bright up the eyes like his, not even in those creepy romantic movies Satsuki forces him to watch on an excruciating daily basis.  He’s not completely sold yet: he’s smart enough to know that a guy like Kise is probably, no, _definitely_ able to charm the pants off of every single soul in Tokyo, but as odd as it is, his gut tells him he’s not being manipulated into anything.  
Kise’s being real with him, probably more so than most of the people he begrudgingly let into his life.  
  
All things considered, if Aomine’s good at something, it’s detecting danger.  He’s done that since he was six, he even made a profession out of it. He is _not_ easy to fool, end of story.  
  
He tries not to be, at least.  
  
It’s pretty obvious then, that when Kise asked him out on a lunch date _that clearly wasn’t meant to be a date but come on give him a break_ , he couldn’t stop himself from agreeing.  
Amazing how a pair of golden eyes managed to vaporize the entirity of his supposedly iron resolve.  
  
As they make their way through the typical lunch-time sea of people, Aomine can’t help but eye Kise’s broad back and the way his muscles stand out through his expensive looking shirt, lingering on the golden locks brushing his nape just a second too long. Damn it.  
  
_Stop staring and get your shit together._  
  
“Say, Kise, “ Aomine questions, trying his absolute best to repress his default accusatory tone. Getting out of the infamous dove-mode has never been easy for him, after all. “What were you doing in the neighbourhood? I mean, it’s a pretty creepy coincidence.”  
  
Aomine cringes at the poor choice of words, though that’s the least of his problems at the moment.  
He’s sensed the not-so-imperceptible bend of his tone as soon as his tongue rolled out the syllables, but he shrugs it off in resigned acceptance. He’ll never be able to sound cheerful and completely devoid of doubt and ulterior motives, not after what he’d fought against.  
  
What he’d _seen_.  
  
He expects Kise to frown, to be offended – truthfully, that’s what he’d do if anyone spoke to him like that – but miraculously enough,  Kise doesn’t seem to mind the peculiar inflection in his voice at all. He stops walking and turns around with a grace that’s almost annoying, facing him with the most blazing set of white teeth he’s ever seen. Aomine takes some time to inspect his expression, exploring it with a hunger that’s never characterized him before. He marvels at his perfectly square incisors and high cheekbones, almost groaning at the pink cheeks staining the immaculate milk of his skin.  
  
Is this guy for real?  
  
“I was in a coffee shop nearby,” Kise replies simply, hitting him with a candor Aomine’s definitely not used to – not anymore, at least.  
  
“Oh, that’s the place!” he then chirps, positively beaming as he points a slender finger to a vintage looking building. “That’s the coffee shop, Aomine-san. “  
  
Aomine’s gaze follows the path indicated by Kise’s gesture and rolls his eyes.  
He should’ve known Kise was a pastel kind of guy, his clothing choices should’ve been a clear indicator of his tastes after all. He’s absolutely disgusted with the light shade of mint green coloring the entrance of the damn thing, but he can’t help but find it endearing in a completely unexpected way.  
As he looks at the way Kise smiles fondly at the place, he finds himself thinking that no matter how much of a sap Kise obviously is, he wouldn’t want him to be any different.  
  
And that, albeit sudden and beyond inconvenient, is how he realizes how stupid of him it was to even _consider_ deleting his number in the first place. Kise’s  appearence in his dull life has been nothing but a blessing, a sign, a divine gift. However he calls it, it doesn’t change its substantial importance. Aomine literally crashed into his light, and now that he’s under the giant umbrella of Kise’s brilliance, every fiber of his body refuses to push him away and go back to the soaking rainy weather.  
And so, any previous attempt of denying and dismissing it as an unimportant crush feels completely idiotic to him right now. Hell, he could even laugh at his former reluctance.  
  
_Reluctance my ass_ , Aomine thinks as he whips out a teasing comment about Kise’s taste in coffee shops and snorts at his pout of fake displeasure.  
  
_I was just scared._  
  
“That’s great and all, Kise, but I’m practically starving here.”  
  
Kise seems to snap out of whatever pool of thoughts he was immersed into then, jumping in place and clapping his hands together in realisation. “Right, lunch. Lunch, lunch…” he chants, turning his head to the other side of the road and narrowing his eyes in a clear examination of the several restaurants scattered around the avenue. “That one, I like that one.”  
  
Aomine hardly resists the urge to roll his eyes again. Seriously, he’s actually surprised there ain’t any bubbles coming out of Kise’s ears or something.  
  
“Any place is fine, come on,” he groans, grabbing one of Kise’s muscled arms – _seriously?_ –  and marching towards the place he’d chosen.  
  
“Let’s go.”  
  
It’s only after a few steps that Kise seems to catch up and starts contributing to his pull by walking faster, reaching his side in a second. Aomine should probably let go of the blonde’s arm, he _knows_ he should, but truth be told he’s definitely done with letting go of what he wants. He takes a deep breath and keeps his grip on the toned bicep, brows furrowing in concentration as he tries not to squeeze it too hard.  
  
Fuck, he’s probably holding him too tight anyway.  
  
Kise doesn’t seem to mind though, and after twenty minutes, Aomine thinks it’s amazing how many things Kise doesn’t mind.  
  
He doesn’t mind the way Aomine attacks his fried chicken, he doesn’t mind his inelegant choice of beer, he doesn’t even mind the hissed profanities when he almost drops his fork.  In fact, Kise seems interested and…dare he say? Captivated, even.  
  
“So, Aomine-san,” Kise begins after taking a sip of his mineral water.  Just a moment before Aomine raised a brow at his empty plate, but Kise chuckled and explained he’s had enough cake at the coffee shop earlier.  _Fair enough_ , Aomine thought.  
  
“Are you a cop? You do give off that kind of vibe.”  
  
Aomine doesn’t flinch. He’s all too used to reply to that kind of question and no matter how infuriating it is, he can’t be completely honest with Kise. Not if he wants to keep him alive, that is.  
  
“Yeah, something like that,” he concedes, nodding for emphasis. “And drop the –san, will you? I’m not an old geezer yet.”  
  
Kise throws his head back to let out a laugh, his bangs covering his eyes much to Aomine’s disapproval. He kind of likes looking at that unique shade of gold. Kind of.  
  
“Right, sorry,” he amends, bowing his head in a pretty evident mocking gesture. Aomine groans.  
  
“Aominecchi then?”  
  
The beer Aomine was drinking nearly gets spat out as he processes Kise’s words with wide eyes and brows raised. “Aominecchi.” Aomine repeats with a deadpan expression, not really knowing what else to say.  
  
“Yeah, I…I add –cchi to the names of people I acknowledge.” Kise elaborates, staring intensely at the immaculate ceramic plate sitting before him.  He’s starting to look mortified, so Aomine does the first thing he can think of to fullfill the absurd yet impending need of reassuring him.  
  
“Aominecchi’s fine.”  
  
If he’s being completely honest, it really isn’t.  
Aomine nurtures a fierce hatred for stupid nicknames and still has issues with Satsuki’s _Dai-chan_ in spite of the two decades tying them together,  but as soon as he saw a faint trace of discomfort on Kise’s features, he threw his personal preference right out of the window. That sure says a lot about how in deep he is.  
  
He should probably reprimand himself and punch his own face with a certain vigor, but the way Kise relaxes and melts in what looks like a victorious grin sort of distracts him from his self-punishing intentions.  
  
That’s actually what Kise does, Aomine reflects.  
He distracts him from his self-loathing, from his fears, from the horrors of his past, present and future. With no visible effort, he did what Satsuki’s been trying to achieve for ages and ages of dullness.  
Kise walked into the room soaked in fluid elegance and forced the sealed windows open, letting the sunlight in for the first time in years. That's what he is, that’s what he’s already come to mean to Aomine after a single fated day.  
A nickname is a small price to pay, all things considered.  
He may even grow to like it, huh.  
  
“Aominecchi it is, then!”  
The blonde’s reply is melodious, practically sing-songed, and Aomine’s getting progressively more confident in his latest choices. “Yeah,” he concurs, and though he has no idea how it happens, he finds himself staring and being stared at. Kise’s eyes are starting to widen, but he doesn’t look away from Aomine’s in spite of the blush spreading on his cheeks. Seconds tick away, then minutes, but none of them seems to be particularly inclined to avoid the other’s gaze. Aomine’s fingers start to tremble, moved by the overwhelming desire to grasp Kise’s hand and stay glued to it for a long, long time. It’s unbelievable, really, and it’s also fucking embarassing, but Aomine finds himself pondering whether Kise would be bothered by his touch or not.  It’s worth a try, isn’t it? He’s come this far already, right?  
  
Just as he’s about to reach out a hand and take the leap he’s so scared of, a loud _ping_ coming from Aomine’s phone makes him jump in surprise and cough awkwardly, not really knowing how to play it cool after that…thing. What was that anyway?  
  
“You should…you should probably get that, Aominecchi. It could be from work, right?” Kise stutters, breaking the silence and sinking a bit lower in his seat.  
  
“Work, yeah.”  
Aomine curses at the display. _Amazing timing as usual, thanks Satsuki._  
  
“It’s a text, let me just-“  
“Sure, take your time.”  
  
**_Can’t make it to dinner tonight._**  
 ** _Something came up._**  
 ** _Don’t bury yourself in burgers._**  
  
Typical Satsuki, she probably got a date or something. In spite of his constant vigilance, Aomine’s too invested in the person sitting right in front of him to read too much into it like he would’ve done in any other circumstance. He types a quick reply and brushes it off, looking back at Kise who seems focused on reading the menu even though he’s already eaten.  
  
“It was just Satsuki, sorry about that.”  
  
Kise lifts his eyes in a second and blinks a couple of times, wearing a polite but warm smile. “Don’t worry about it, Aominecchi,” he replies, and although his voice sounds sweet and velvety as usual, Aomine knows he’s just as flustered as he is.  
  
“What about you though? What are you, a florist?” he inquires, trying to light up the mood again.  
  
“A flo- why would you think that?” Kise protests, crossing arms over his chest and pouting in retaliation.  
“I’m manlier than that, Aominecchi.”  
  
“Then what?” Aomine snorts, devouring the last bit of his fried chicken and leaning back on his seat, politely gesturing for a waiter to get the bill. Kise understands immediately and fumbles for his wallet, but Aomine shakes his head and raises a hand to prevent him from complaining. “Let me get this, alright?”  
  
“But Aominecchi, you saved-“  
  
“Kise, it’s _fine_ ,” he counters, pausing for a second to read Kise’s opposed look before blurting out what he’s been wanting to say from the very beginning.  
  
“There’ll be a next time, alright? You’ll pay me back then.”  
  
And once again, Kise doesn’t seem to mind.

* * *

  
  
Although May’s just begun, Tokyo’s tarmac is already on its way to become a pot of incandescent lava.  
Momoi puffs loudly as her heels click on the concrete, bitterly regretting the smothering tailleur she chose to wear that morning. She stops to send a couple of texts the moment she enters the station and marches towards her train, untying her hair as soon as she steps in it and takes a seat, only to braid it up again. She then glances at her watch and frowns, hoping to get to Shimbashi soon in spite of her delay.  
  
Alexandra Garcia isn’t known to be a patient woman after all, and although her ways are still famous in every ward as a bit unorthodox, Momoi _really_ needs to consult her in order to start her private investigation. In spite of her reputation of golden agent with an immaculate record, she still has a few contacts with her former rough-and-tough colleagues of the 11th ward, even though she’s technically not allowed to – not after they’ve been expelled from the organization anyway. Alex, together with a few other agents, had been a great help with last month’s disaster. They fought just as hard as Aomine and Kagami did, but alas, they were rightfully accused of spilling governmental secrets to civilians.  
  
Momoi remembers the trial with a crystal clear accuracy, and even though it’s true that Alex and the others said too much, it’s also true that they had no other choice.  
  
How were they supposed to evacuate the entirity of the 11th ward without briefing people on the terrible threat coming their way?  
  
It’s then that Momoi learned not to always trust the twisted mechanism of justice, and it’s also then that she realized that maybe, just maybe, sometimes contextualizing and arguing the Bureau and its decisions is the best path to follow in that kind of delicate situation —  which is exactly why she’s about to handle it on her own, incidentally.  
  
As she’s busy with planning her upcoming meeting with Alex, someone behind her clicks their tongue, suddenly triggering Momoi’incredible awareness of her surroundings. Her brain starts circuiting in a heartbeat, and although it’s only been a couple of seconds, it’s enough for her to register the insistent hovering of someone’s gaze right on her back. She’s experienced enough to know that turning around to face whoever’s been staring at her isn’t the smartest move, whether it’s the usual admirer or someone set on following her movements, so she pulls out her trusty make-up mirror with a sigh and maneuvers it to have a clear view of who – or what – is located behind her.  
  
Momoi expected a lot of things.  
  
She was ready to see a creepy and possibly smelly guy, the typical maniac targeting lone women in the tube. She was also ready to recognize an acquaintance too shy or uncaring to say hello, a colleague, even a hungry ghoul. What she wasn’t prepared for, however, is exactly what she’s looking at right now.  
  
_Nothing_.  
  
Now, modesty aside, Momoi’s hardly ever wrong.  
She’s been able to scan places, people, patterns and probabilities since she was barely six years old and not once, not even _one time_ did she ever fail. Her brain’s extraordinary, that’s a mere fact of life. Though she’s far from perfect, Momoi Satsuki simply doesn’t make that kind of mistakes and, if she did, she’d figure it out in the blink of an eye. It’s happened before after all: her intellect failed her only to recover istantly and make up for its dysfunction, fair and square. So all things considered, it’s no wonder she’s absolutely upset by the charade.  No, she’s not about to let it fool her.  
  
Something’s off.  
Someone’s there.  
  
_We’ll soon be stopping at platform 3, Shimbashi Station. Please mind the step._  
  
The automatic voice floods Momoi’s concentration like a waterfall of ice cold water, effectively making her snap out of her speculations. With a last glance to the carriage and her lips pressed together in a pale line, she quickly makes her way out of the subway and marches to the fancy cafè right in front of it, forcing a smile as soon as she notices a blonde mane of silky hair through the glass window.  
  
“Alex-san!” she calls, trotting to the table she’s sitting at. “Sorry I’m late, it’s been a crazy day.”  
  
The older woman promptly shakes her head, smiling at Momoi’s apologetic tone. “It’s alright darling! Come, take a seat.”  
  
Momoi does just that then, trying her best not to be too conscious of the ambience. The cafè is fairly large and well lit, there aren’t many places to simultaneously hide and follow someone’s movements. If everything came to the worst possible scenario, as she quickly considers, there wouldn’t be a fair fight anyway.  
  
Not when she’s disarmed.    
Not when Alex could get hurt too.  
  
_Stay focused, just stay focused_.  
  
“Listen Alex, I—“  
  
“It’s about the murders, isn’t it? You don’t think it’s Rakuzan,” she istantly notes, grinning at Momoi’s confused look and pressing her pointer agaist her lips before clarifying, “Taiga told me about the bodies.”  
  
Momoi’s eyes widen in surprise and her mouth drops open, but she’s way too taken aback by Alex’s intuition to do something about it. She throws her arms in the air in relief and then nods vehemently, trying to recollect her composure and explain her theory.  
  
“I know it sounds unlikely, but I’ve seen Rakuzan’s victims. They’re…they’re just eating! Of course it isn’t right, but they kill only because they have to, don’t ask me how I know it, I just… _I see it_ ,” she begins, talking way too fast for someone whose goal is to be understood. “But last month’s murders? The latest bodies we found? That’s something else completely,” Momoi sighs, shaking her head at Alex’s confused expression. She can tell her ex-colleague’s trying to give her hypothesis a chance, but she’s not so optimistic to ignore the clear hint of disbelief hidden behind her hazel eyes. She shrugs it off and keeps talking, putting more and more intensity in her words as she goes on.  
“I mean, I’m not saying Rakuzan’s innocent, but there’s something different about these killings, okay? They’re done out of rage, Alex. It’s not _feeding_ , they’re killing for the hell of it!”  
  
Silence snakes between them then, deafening and excruciating.  Alex takes her time to wrap her head around Momoi’s words and test their autenticity, furrowing her brows in utter absorption. It takes her three solid minutes, but finally, _finally_ she speaks.  
  
“Momoi, _Satsuki-chan_ , I believe you. You know I can't involve the boys, but I'll help.”  
  
“Alex, you— really? Oh, thank God, thank _you_! Dai-chan would’ve rolled his eyes all the way to the next century,” Momoi exclaims, smiling in spite of the irritated remark. “I can’t ask anyone in the Bureau for help, especially not Dai-chan or Kagamin…and God forbid I try dragging Wakamatsu into this.”  
  
Alex’s eyes light up then, a fond smile curving her pink lipstick lips. “Taiga’s doing good though, yeah? I haven’t heard his voice since…you know,” she questions, nodding suggestively. “Hyuuga and Kiyoshi have been giving me hell, he was the only good guy on my team. Too bad he only texts me here and then now, ungrateful brat.”  
  
Both women hide their mouths to chuckle lightly, clearly busy recalling the good old days. It was nice, Momoi remembers. She and Aomine used to hang out with Alex and the guys all the time back in the 11th ward, no matter how hard things were, no matter how much blood stained their clothes. It almost felt like—  
  
“ _Family_ ,” Alex sighs, glassy gaze warm and welcoming as always. “We were family, huh?”  
  
“Yeah,” Momoi nods, “We were.”  
  
And she can’t…it’s impossible not to cry then, it’s impossible to put on an iron façade and pretend not to miss it, not to ache for the only small portion of normalty to ever grace her life. She had Alex, Riko, Hyuuga, Kiyoshi, even Izuki: they were more than colleagues, they were each other’s source of comfort —  especially during last month’s tidal wave of grief and broken bones.  
  
“Listen, when we lost Kuroko…I thought you would’ve crumbled, Satsuki-chan. I wasn’t that worried about Taiga or Aomine, those two are made to push forward, but you,”  
Alex pulls out a colorful package of tissues then, handing it to Momoi with an encouraging yet concerned expression. “You fight for everyone else and forget about yourself in the process.” she concludes, obviously still feverishly weighting the words.  
  
“I still miss Tetsu-kun,” Momoi  jibes, tone quivering among the tears she’s desperately trying to hold back.  
“But he would’ve wanted us to move on and keep doing our best, right?”  
  
Her weak smile’s mirrored by Alex’s, and a tight hug later, she’s back outside with curved shoulders and heavier heart.  
  
She squits her eyes to look at the sky, still deeply enamored with its delicate azure shade.  
  
_The same color of his eyes…_  
  
The afternoon sun blinds her for a second, but she feels it anyway.  She senses someone watching her _again_ , except Momoi’s ready this time, she’s been expecting it since the first hunch she got on the train earlier. Her pastel locks whip the warm air as she turns around with a determined look, ready to face her supposed stalker.  
  
The light breeze gently wipes the bangs away from her eyes, and just like that, a pair of feline crimson eyes shines back at her, positively making her jolt in surprise and, as humiliating as it is, _fear_.  
  
She’s faced many ghouls before, so really, she’s not a novice. Aomine’s presence at her side wasn’t the only thing keeping her alive during all those years spent in the 11th ward, the very core of ghoul activity in Japan. Although she hasn’t fought much since they were transferred to the 20th ward, she’s been in several fights, she’s agile and fast enough to take on one of those monsters anytime, she has skill and the courage to use it. All of that is true, a simple yet proven fact.  
  
Even still, Momoi finds herself fearing for her life as soon as she makes out Akashi Seijūrō’s eyes staring at her.

  
He doesn’t seem bothered by the scared but questioning look she sends his way though, and doesn’t move when Momoi’s hand travels to her cellphone, not even flinching when she slowly lowers her eyes and walks up to him in a clearly suicidal yet somehow calculated whim.  
  
“Akashi of Rakuzan.”  
  
It’s not a question, both of them know as much. It’s an implied demand for an explanation, a sign of his intentions, anything. Momoi’s not about to bother with piecing the puzzle together when she has the key standing right in front of her.  
  
Her thrist for understanding’s going to ignite her downfall, but in spite of everything, she’s oddly okay with it.  
  
“Momoi Satsuki, I presume? We met last month, I’m sure you recall.”  
  
His tone is polite, collected.  
Momoi eyes his combed hair, the candid shirt he’s wearing, the perfectly knotted tie.  
He looks like an ordinary person, she thinks. Almost pleasurable.  
  
“The field, I remember, “ she confirms, slightly shaking her head at the horrendous memory.  Alex is still in the cafè, Momoi realises suddenly. Losing her —losing _anyone_ — is not an option, not anymore. She needs to keep him as far from her as humanly possible.  
  
 “How do you know my name? Why are you following me?”  
  
Akashi nods, evidently pleased with her inquiries, and gestures towards a bizarre set of people standing behind him. An attractive young man is leaning on a bulkier and tanner one, and if her sense of detail was any worse, Momoi wouldn’t even have noticed the third person there. _They’re all ghouls_ , she notes. _It’s Rakuzan_.  
  
It’s then that Akashi smiles and turns around, gracefully walking towards them.  
  
Momoi doesn’t quite have a choice.  
  
She turns off her phone and fills her lungs with purpose, ready to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're on the verge of a pretty intense series of chapters, can't wait for that (and the tidal wave of fluff) eheh ;3


	5. Teardrops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, this one literally took me forever - sorry about that!  
> Well, I hope you enjoy anyway. Thank you for reading. :3

In the grand scheme of things, Akashi Seijūrō is always one step ahead of everyone else.  
Without the faintest hint of hesitation, he ripped right through the tidal wave of corpses and violence drowning the city and he saw _everything_.  
Kirisaki Daichi found a new leader and started a war, an extremely ferocious one. History was repeating itself, that was and still is undebatable. No one would’ve suspected it, but he perceived it nonetheless. He always does.  
  
“You sure about this, Akashi?”  
  
Nebuya’s pushy question doesn’t come on its own: it’s accompanied by the shaken expressions of Mibuchi and Mayuzumi, currently standing at either side of their unusual guest. Akashi bows his head once, a confident nod, and diverts his attention to the small woman sitting on the uncomfortable wooden chair he grew so used to. He looks at her, stares right into her eyes, and waits.  
  
She doesn’t flinch, or more accurately, she tries not to.  
  
There’s a fiery determination hidden behind those thick eyelashes, one that won’t quiver with the simple yet basic dread of death. Satisfied with the deduction, Akashi finally decides to speak.  
  
“You’re not going to die today, Momoi Satsuki.”  
  
Momoi doesn’t reply nor does she look relieved, but Akashi expected as much. He’s studied her records since they first met in that dreadful field, surrounded by mutilated bodies and explicit screams of accusation. He knows she’s far too clever to find reassurance in the words of the enemy and he respects her for that, but there's still urgency poisoning the air.  
  
“I have some things to clear up, I believe. I’d like you to listen.”  
  
Mibuchi scoffs, clearly disapproving, but Akashi doesn’t blame him. In complete honesty, he’s not too elated either. Recognizing the impossibility of victory was hard enough, but asking for help, no, asking _the Bureau_ for help? That required all of his proverbial iron resolve. All of it.  
  
And so, mortally scarring his pride in a feverish quest for survival, Akashi lets Momoi in.  
  
When she finally relents and starts believing him, the neon light right above their heads is no longer needed. Momoi concedes a meaningful nod and turns her gaze to the broken window of the abandoned building, looking at the sunrise with tears in her eyes. Unexpectedly, Rakuzan follows suit.  
  
A whole night, that’s what it took for Akashi’s sincerity to really, really touch her soul.  
  
“You know I can’t promise you anything,” she whispers. “My colleagues… they think you’re guilty.”  
  
Finding comfort in the sactity of the morning light, Akashi closes his eyes.  
  
“Aren’t we all?”  


* * *

  
  
“Please stop that.”  
  
“Mh?”  
  
“I said _stop doing that_ , Kise.”  
  
“I don’t know what senpai’s talking about.”  
  
Truthfully, he does know what Kasamatsu’s talking about. God, does he know.  
  
Kise has spent the entirity of the day shooting beaming looks at his phone, grinning at the screen every single time a new text from the very gruff, very _dreamy_ Aomine Daiki popped there.  
  
“We’ve been texting since last night,” Kise informs, batting his eyes at the device as his tongue pokes at the corner of his mouth. “And we had lunch together, senpai! We stared at each other and it was-“  
  
“ _Steamy_. It was steamy, alright. You only told me fifty fucking times.”  
  
**_Ping_.**  
  
Without the faintest hint of shame, Kise jumps in his seat and nearly drops a spoonful of sugar as his free hand fumbles for the phone, only to have his ecstatic expression turn to a disappointed pout. “Wasn’t mine.” he announces, aggressively shoving a spoon in the cream of his mocha.  
  
Kasamatsu rolls his eyes and sighs loudly but still has the grace to spare some damage to Kise’s dignity, resolving to licking the sugar off his thumb to unlock the screen.  
  
It’s a matter of seconds, no more than ten.  
Kise watches his friend’s distressed expression morph into a horrifying mask of terror and he feels it right in his bones.  
  
“Moriyama-san tried asking you out again?” he jokes hesitantly, trying his utmost best to ignore the fiery vortex of fear sucking him in.  
  
_No_ , he thinks.  
_Everyone’s fine._  
  
_Nothing happened._  
  
_We’re fine._  
  
“Kise-“  
  
_He’s **fine**_.  
  
“-they found a body.”  
  
_Please. Just. Please._  
  
“It’s a woman.”  
  
Every single muscle in Kise’s body relaxes just as quick as his flesh froze just a few moments ago.  
A woman, a woman, a woman.  
_It’s a woman_ , he chants.  
  
“Was it in plain sight? Again?” he inquires, large hand moving in circles to massage his chest in a much needed attempt to soothe his heart. He knows that sort of thought is completely taboo, knows he shouldn’t even stop to consider such possibility, but he does it anyway. Kise’s reckless mind betrays him once again as he aches at the chance of that body being Aomine’s.  
He can see it pretty clearly, too.  
Aomine laying on the floor, bronze drifting to the cold faded tint of dead flesh, rotting. He sees dried blood on his crumpled military shirt, guts splashing red all over the sidewalk and broken bones poking out of his toned limbs. He just sees it, and although the vision’s enough to make him sick, that’s not what scares him.  
What’s truly terrifying is the reality of the details, an accuracy that’s granted by nothing but his past actions.  
He’s already seen that scene. He’s replayed it over and over, day after day, meal after meal.  
He’s one of those who inflict that sort of pain, a killer, a monster. That’s him, that’s _always_ going to be him, and no matter how bright Aomine is and how refreshing his sole presence was, Kise can’t afford to forget it – or change it, for that matter.  
  
_Ouch._  
  
“Tell Kobori and Nakamura to alert the others, we’re meeting with Shūtoku and Yosen. Tomorrow, usual place.”  
  
Kasamatsu’s voice drags Kise back, makes him snap out of his self-inflicted torment. His golden eyes pierce through him, searching for an explation or at least some sort of hint as to why the sterness in his senpai’s voice quivered remarkably.  
  
Alas, he finds nothing.  
  
“Senpai?”  
  
“I don’t like this, Kise. According to Hayakawa’s intel the body was in the middle of a busy street. The guys from Yosen found it thirty minutes ago. Well, they found parts of it.”  
  
Another mauled corpse. No, wrong.  
That’s not another corpse, that’s _one too many_.  
  
_They found parts of it,_ Kasamatsu said.  
  
Enough of this madness.  
  
“Kasamatsu-senpai, I’ll be off now. Right now.”  
  
That sort of occurrance wasn’t normal nor acceptable. Ghouls eat humans, yes, but they don’t play with their limbs like that, they don’t find amusement in leaving grim testaments to their own violence for everyone to see. That's not-  
  
Kise’s trail of thoughts comes to a halt as he unwillingly pictures Aomine’s dead body on the floor again, but he’s missing an arm this time.  
  
_He’s missing an arm._  
  
No.  
  
Knuckles turn white as Kise’s urgency submerges his usual sunny disposition, spurring him on while he quickly stands up and slams some money on the table.  
  
“I-“  
  
“Kise, go protect your lover or whatever, alright?”  
  
_Yeah_ , Kise thinks as he exits the coffee shop in a flash.  
  
He feels pitch black flooding the gold in his eyes and that’s how he knows.  
  
_I will. Even if it kills me._  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Aomine’s pretty confused. And angry.  
  
But mainly confused.  
  
First, why can’t Satsuki just pick up her fucking phone? Why does she need a fancy looking smartphone with a shitload of stupid phone chains if she won’t even check her texts? And more importantly, why can’t Kagami be less of an enigmatic asshole for once and just tell him what went down with Harasawa yesterday?  
  
_(“Look, dude, just ask Momoi alright? I have shit to take care of. Work shit.”)_  
  
Aomine’s hand curls in a fist as he acklowledges that yes, that’s what currently makes him angry, but _fuck_ he’s so damn confused, too.  
  
So.  
Confused.  
  
Why the fuck is Kise at his door? _Fine_ , he did give him his address, but why is he drenched? Why does no one buy umbrellas anymore? Why must he be seen in his pajama pants by the man he kind of – or completely – fell for?  
  
He guesses it’s true what they say – _life can’t be controlled, son._  
Damn right it can’t. If it could, he sure as hell would be wearing his skinny jeans right now.  
  
“I’d ask, really, I would,” Aomine starts, trying not to feel self conscious about the mess in his hall as Kise takes off his shoes and lifts his chin to smile at him, “but-“  
  
“But Aominecchi knows I’m just that full of surprises by now, so he won’t.” Kise finishes for him, the cheekiest of grins spreading across his perfect pale face. Aomine can’t help but feel like something’s off, as if Kise’s smile isn’t quite bright enough. _Something must be bothering him_ , he concludes. He’s no tactful man, but he’s also not stupid enough to ask right there. Hell, Satsuki’s dramas make a huge deal out of timing for a reason, right?  
  
And so, not for the first time since he met Kise, he picks the safer route and decides to postpone his inquiries at least until the blond’s clothes stop sticking to his body in that outrageous manner.  
  
“That’s the dumbest thing you ever said, and you say a lot of dumb shit,” he retorts, raising a brow at the mop of wet golden hair flicking water all over his floor. “ _And_ you’re gonna help me clean that up, princess.”  
  
“Only if Aominecchi lets me use his shower first.”  
Kise’s reply is quick and candid as snow, but it makes him choke nonetheless.  
Of course Kise doesn’t miss that. Of fucking course.  
  
Amber orbs widen and sparkle right into his blue eyes as Kise gasps theatrically, making sure to bat his eyes at least a bit. The fucker.  
  
“I didn’t mean anything like that! Why is Aominecchi blushing? So _lewd_ , Aominecchi!”  
  
A chill runs down Aomine spine as he shamefully takes note of gallons and gallons of blood painting his cheeks, and although he should be kind of pissed at Kise’s teasing, he can’t help but marvel at the feeling. He’s blushing again, he’s feeling alive again, he’s actually enjoying someone else’s company besides Satsuki’s again and worst of all, worst of _everything_ , he doesn’t even feel too guilty about it by now. Fuck. Even though he managed to somewhat accept his newly found romantic life in the span of the last three days (and Aomine actually _cringes_ at how quick his fall was), his conscience is still giving him hell. He's been able to roll with that for a long time, though.  What's a couple more blows to his morals? 

Besides, it's not like he'd let anything happen to Kise. Ever.

  
“Kise,” he manages, face barely covered by his palm. “Just. Get in the damn shower. Now.”  


* * *

  
  
Summer rain is nice, Momoi likes it.  
She’s always liked it.  
  
When they were nothing more than naive children, Momoi and Aomine would spend the night counting the drops with their eyes set on Tokyo’s impressive skyline, looking at skyscrapers but not really seeing anything. They hadn’t seen anything at all for a long time, not until the darkest and carefully hidden face of humanity slapped them right in the face. It started with fear, then there was what Momoi still labels as forced courage. Finally, against all better judgement, an adamant resolve to fight that same darkness ignited Aomine’s eyes and bones for the first time in what felt like forever. Momoi didn’t want that, didn’t want him to fight, didn’t want her other half to drown in wounds and gore, but she knew better than that.  
Aomine picked his path, and of course she followed. Of course.  
  
Then again, Aomine and Momoi aren’t friends.  
  
Friends smile at each other and offer tiny yet significant acts of kindness to one another, friends cry together and stand up together and hold each other’s hand through the storm.  
  
No, they aren’t friends.  
  
Aomine and Momoi fight, scream, pull desperate attempts to rescue the other from the abyss, swipe each other’s pain off their shoulders and hold hands as they stare silently at the bloodstained clothes swirling and swirling and swirling in the washing machine. Aomine carries Momoi effortlessly whenever she’s too tired to take the umpteenth agonizing step, Momoi challenges the limits of her tiny body to do the same.  
  
They don’t soldier the storm together, they run right to its core and slash the wind with their bare hands.  
  
It’s not friendship. It’s an oath, a promise, a prayer.  
  
Aomine understands that, she’s positive he does.  
  
When you’ve spent years and years walking beside Momoi Satsuki, you inevitably begin to learn a few things.  
  
One, Momoi knows. Doesn’t matter what you’re trying to hide or how much effort you’re putting in said hiding, she just _knows_ – and if she doesn’t, she will.  
  
Two, much to Aomine’s disapproval, Momoi doesn’t have any kind of self-preservation istinct whatsoever.  
If you’re burning, she’ll throw herself in the fire. If you’re drowning, she’ll jump in the depths.  
  
Here’s the thing, though: she can’t swim – not for her dear life – and she sure as hell isn’t fireproof.  
  
If you burn, she’ll burn with you.  
  
_“Why me, Akashi?”_  
  
_“I know you, Momoi Satsuki. We all do. If there’s someone capable of understanding, that’s you.”_  
  
As she stares at the remains of what was once a woman’s body, Momoi tries to focus on the drops soaking her blouse. Given her natural tendecy to keep every single aspect of reality into serious consideration, it doesn’t come easy to her. Her hands shake, but she doesn’t pay attention to the involuntary movement. She can ignore that, at least.  
  
Honestly, if she thought her death was certain just ten hours ago – when she followed Akashi’s elegant pace – she’s not so sure about that anymore. Granted, the ghoul didn’t kill her and that’s a fact, but he might as well have. The secret he shared with her, the parts of their world he let her see, the solution to the puzzle she’s been trying to piece together was much worse than the mere end of her existence. Much, much worse.  
  
Make no mistake, she’s not easy to fool nor naive enough to believe Rakuzan’s version of things, not right away. Fear of death long forgotten, she listened to their leader and observed his every move. She even inspected the records they used to file the gruesome events of last month, the entirity of their database, the facial expressions of every single ghoul she met. As much as she didn’t – and still doesn’t – want to believe in the existence of a secret group of blood-thristy killers whose leader _(Hanamiya Makoto? Has he been replaced?)_ was – or is – apparently able to drive any fellow ghoul completely insane and turn them against anyone… well.  
  
Facts speak for themselves.  
  
Momoi shuts her eyes, vaguely registering the fall of the drops stuck in her long eyelashes. Her phone keeps buzzing, but she doesn’t need to check it to know who’s texting her. Stupid Dai-chan, always worrying at the wrong time.  
  
“You’re not going to request the help of your colleague?”  
  
Slowly, she meets Akashi Seijūrō’s crimson gaze and shakes her head.  
  
“Dai-chan’s been through enough.”  
  
“I understand. That’s very noble of you. Protecting Aomine, I mean.”  
  
Another text.  
  
**_where the fuck are u_**  
**_pick up ur goddamn phone_**  
**_oi satsuki_**  
**_SATSUKI_ **  
  
Momoi doesn’t reply immediately. She knows Akashi won’t rush her, he doesn’t have a valid reason for that. She takes some time to sigh at Aomine’s texts instead, typing an uncharacteristically vague reply before turning her attention back to Rakuzan’s chief.  
  
**_busy with paperwork_**  
**_ill call you later_**  
  
“That’s what I do,” she states. _Protect others, always_.  
  
Akashi doesn’t speak nor show any sign of considering her short reply, but Momoi knows he understands.  
He may be a son of the darkness, a ghoul and a potential enemy, but she knows he’s not that different. They’re quite similar, actually.  
She’s seen the way his eyes shimmered whenever the safety of his group was brought up, and really, how is that in any way opposed to what she feels towards her colleagues?  Isn’t it ironic though, feeling connected to the one thing she swore to destroy?  
As she thinks of azure eyes, her mind crawls back to the memory of something Akashi told her earlier, something she found herself resonating with.  
  
_“You find the rain enjoyable?”_  
  
_“Do you?”_  
  
_“Quite. It’d be rather convenient, wouldn’t it? If it could drown us all.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *braces self for impending explosion of Aokise fluff*  
> Yesss, it's coming! >3

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, this is based on a quite loose Tokyo Ghoul AU!  
> Also, this was crossposted from my [tumblr](http://ninassield.tumblr.com)!  
> Please note: "modus operandi refers to the way a murder is executed. :3


End file.
